


When Love and Death Embrace

by haggarrrd



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: AU, Gen, I'm Sorry, Other, This is actually horrible but oh well
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-19
Updated: 2013-03-19
Packaged: 2017-12-05 20:50:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/727787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/haggarrrd/pseuds/haggarrrd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based on this tumblr post: http://cosetto.tumblr.com/post/45776426916/au-where-it-wasnt-one-of-the-soldiers-that-killed</p><p>AU in which Gavroche is not killed by a member of the national guard, but by a school boy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When Love and Death Embrace

Courfeyrac sat with his back pressed against the cool wall of the Musain, whistling cheerfully as he cleaned his gun with an old rag that he had found somewhere behind the bar. Grantaire kept casting him annoyed glances, wishing for the sake of his hangover that the man would stop whistling; it seemed obscene for him to be of such good spirits when a bitter battle was on the horizon, Grantaire simply did not understand. 

Courfeyrac’s mood had been lifted by the promised safety of Gavroche. The man thought it was ridiculous for the young boy to be fighting in their revolution anyway, giving his young age, but Enjolras had not turned him away, and Courfeyrac knew that he held no real authority to merely send his ward away from the barricade. It was Marius who managed to get him away, by sending him away on some errand that Courfeyrac passionately hoped would take him days, just so that he would not be able to return and be placed in danger’s course. The revolutionary knew that he would be able to fight better if Gavroche was elsewhere, too, because then he would not feel the need to keep a constant eye on him. 

A small frame sunk down the wall, close to Courfeyrac’s side, and the brunette’s mood seemed to visibly melt away. He stopped whistling instantly, and turned to look at the young boy, his hands still now rather than methodologically cleaning his gun. He clenched his jaw slightly, and when he spoke his words were a mixture of anger and disappointment, “What are you doing here, Gavroche?” 

The young street urchin looked up at him in turn, his eyes bright and wide, filled with excitement, and then smiled, “Wherever you are, I am too. I wish to help.”

Courfeyrac shook his head; at eleven years old, it was more likely that Gavroche would get in the way, rather than be of any assistance, but the oldest of the pair did not voice this theory. He simply began cleaning the silver barrel of his gun once more, fully aware that there was nothing he could say to sway Gavroche’s decision, short of leaving the barricade himself. Gavroche stuck to him like a weed; wherever Courfeyrac was, it was almost assured that the young boy would be there too. 

For a moment, Gavroche watched the man he considered to be a mentor, and then reached across him to grab a spare cloth to polish his own gun, mimicking the elder’s actions identically. Occasionally, his bright eyes would flick across to watch Courfeyrac’s hands, just to make sure that he was still doing the correct thing, and then they would be cast back down to his own. 

They sat in a comfortable silence, Gavroche leaning onto the taller’s arm slightly. Courfeyrac twisted his gun, his hands fumbling with inexperience, and an ear splitting crack followed the action, interrupting the peaceful silence that had blanketed the barricade. Courfeyrac felt the force reverberate up his arm, causing his shoulder to ache with surprise, and it took him a moment to process what had happened. He looked to his side with a frown on his face, looking down to where two chubby hands were no longer cleaning the barrel of a gun; one hand had fallen to rest on Courfeyrac’s thigh, and the other still clutched at the old rag, but was now limp and lifeless. 

“Gavroche?” Courfeyrac whispered in a broken voice as he saw Les Amis swarm around them, attracted by the sound of the bullet. Tears sprung from the brunette’s eyes as he clasped the young boy’s shoulder in his hand, shaking him slightly, despite the vacant look that had taken over his face, and the glassy look his eyes had adapted. He pulled the boy onto his lap, cradling him slightly as he cried into the blond mess of his hair. “Gavroche!”

He hated himself instantly, before the reality of the situation had even had chance to settle in. It had been a mistake, Courfeyrac’s inexperience his ultimate downfall as his fingers nudged levers that he didn’t really know the purpose of. He held the small boy close, feeling disgusted at his own existence. 

Enjolras stepped forward and placed a hand on Courfeyrac’s shoulder after allowing him a moment to grieve the boy he had taken under his wing. Courfeyrac looked up at him, his eyes wide and rimmed with red, and the fearless leader had to make a strong effort not to allow his eyes to wander away from his friend to look at the small boy in his arms. The brunette grabbed his wrist, letting go of Gavroche for a moment, his eyes full of pleading, “I didn’t mean to, Enjolras. Oh Lord, I did not mean to! You must take me and do the same as punishment, I cannot live with myself knowing that I did this to Gavroche, please Enjolras.” 

“Nonsense, Courfeyrac,” Jehan slipped between the blond and the distraught man and pulled the latter to his feet, wrapping a shaking arm around his friend and guiding him away so that Combeferre could move Gavroche’s body into the Musain, to be laid aside the victims of the previous night’s attacks. The poet felt sorrowful for the surreal event that had just occurred, but even he who loved everybody did not care for Gavroche as much as Courfeyrac had; no one would feel the boy’s loss as much as the brunette did. “It was an accident, you shan’t be punished for that at all.”

“No!” Courfeyrac pulled himself away from the delicate poet, and stared at Enjolras, begging with his eyes. “You must, Enjolras. It is justice, you cannot ignore that fact. Accident or not, there must still be some form of punishment, and if you do not enforce it then I will.”

Enjolras shook his head and looked down; he knew that what Courfeyrac was saying was the truth, although he had not even considered punishing the other man until it was brought up. It had been an accident, but that did not give Enjolras the right to disregard that it had happened. He was a man dedicated to delivering justice, to ignore that duty now simply because the situation involved one of his closest friends… well, that would be an injustice. He would be no better than those they were revolting against. No matter how much it would pain and torment him, Enjolras would not fail to deliver justice.

“Enjolras, tell him he’s being ridiculous.” Jehan murmured softly, more to Enjolras than to Courfeyrac, but the golden haired man simply shook his head again, and this time looked up to meet Jehan’s blue eyes. 

“I cannot, Jehan.” Said he, regrettably as he turned to look at Courfeyrac once again. “Courfeyrac is right. I can no more overlook this than I could overlook the situation with the spy Javert last night. We are fighting for justice, Jehan, it would make me a hypocrite to pretend that our principles do not apply in this situation.” Enjolras stared at Courfeyrac, feeling the burn of regret in his chest, but the other man merely smiled and mouthed a brief thank you. “I’m sorry, Courfeyrac.”

“I’m not.” Courfeyrac wiped his cheeks on the back of his hand. “It may have been an accident, but I should have been more careful. I am nothing but a foolish schoolboy, I have never held a gun before and had the revolution not called for it, I never would have. My inexperience led to my mistake, and for that I deserve to be punished. Now, Enjolras, if you will. I do not wish to say any goodbyes.” 

Jehan protested, rushing over to the rest of Les Amis to try and find someone who would be able to talk sense into the pair. Enjolras and Courfeyrac remained in place for a moment, staring at each other, before Courfeyrac turned and began to walk away. The blond leader followed immediately, his hand tight on the gun by his waist as they walked away from the men they considered friends. Briefly, he wondered if his friends would loathe him for what he was about to do, but he knew that not even that would change his decision, or Courfeyrac’s. 

Courfeyrac sunk to his knees facing the wall in the small alleyway beside the Musain, his back straight and his shoulders tense. Enjolras felt sick, and for a moment, he didn’t think he could do it. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath and counted to ten in his head, attempting to both gain the courage to do what he knew was his duty to do, and find a reason out of it. 

“I’m sorry, Courfeyrac, my friend.” He whispered, his hand tight around the handle of his gun and he lifted it into the air. He pointed it towards his friend, trying to mentally visualise that it were someone else, and not one of the people he considered to be a third to his whole. Behind him, he could hear Jehan screaming for him not to do it, Marius agreeing with him, and Courfeyrac was whispering through tears for Enjolras to hurry up. 

Enjolras visualised that Courfeyrac was a member of the national guard rather than part of Les Amis, and then squeezed his eyes shut as he pulled the trigger.

**Author's Note:**

> This is rushed but I reaaally wanted to post something tonight. I probably should ahve taken more time on it. I'm sorry, it's pretty bad.


End file.
